done unto you." "
"Wrong. The correct quotation is: `Do unto
others as you would have done unto you.' " I reached
to assist what seemed to be an old man. Bart scowled,
panted, grabbed at his chest, then cried out about his
bad heart that shouldn't have to endure tree-climbing. "Bart, I'm fed up with you. All you do is make
trouble. Have some sympathy for Mom and Dad--and
me. It's going to be embarrassing having you for my
brother when we go back to school."
He limped along behind me as I headed toward
home, still panting, muttering between moans about
how already he was a master of finances. "Never was
born a brain more clever than mine," he mumbled. He has really gone bananas, was all I could
think as I listened to him. When he'd scrubbed his
filthy hands with a brush as if he really wanted to get
them clean, I gasped. That wasn't like Bart at all. He
was still pretending to be someone else. Soon he had
his teeth clean and was in bed. I ran fast to where I
could eavesdrop on my parents, who were in the
living room dancing to slow music.
As always, something sweet, soft and romantic
stole over me to see them like that. The tender way
she looked at him; the gentle way he touched her. I
cleared my throat before they did anything too
intimate. Without changing their positions, both
looked at me questioningly. "Yes, Jory," said Mom,
her blue eyes dreamy.
"I want to talk to you about Bart," I said. "I
think there are a few things you should know." Dad looked relieved. Mom seemed to shrink
into herself as she quietly sat beside Dad on the sofa.